


only the margin left to write on now

by majesdane



Series: fifteen genres, one prompt [2]
Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She misses when they used to be friends.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	only the margin left to write on now

**Author's Note:**

> Duel 02 · Duel: Angoisse

  


one thing about human beings that puzzles me the most is their conscious effort  
to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly within.   
— sigmund freud

  
  
  
  
She's eleven, when they meet.  
  
It's the start of sixth grade and a rather ordinary, if unusually warm, day in April; she bumps into the girl in the hallway on her way to class. Sorry! she blurts out, bending down to help the girl pick up her books. Their hands meet over a copy of the girl's math book, fingers lingering against each each just a fraction of a second too long. Shiori looks up and finds herself staring into the bluest eyes she's ever seen. Blue eyes framed by tight, golden-orange curls that fall around the side of the girl's face, down to her chin.  
  
She starts, catches herself, pulls back, straightens up. Sorry, she says again, quieter this time, bowing her head slightly. Her cheeks feel hot; she hopes she isn't blushing too much.   
  
It's okay, the girl says. Her voice is little deeper than Shiori would have expected -- and how strange, that she should expect  _anything_  of this girl, who she doesn't even know at all. The girl points a little ways down the hall at a classroom marked 1-B. I'm just going to class over there. And I'm early anyway. She looks Shiori up and down. I don't think I've seen you before. What grade are you in?  
  
Sixth. And we're in the same class, actually, Shiori adds, after a moment.  
  
The girl's mouth broadens into a wide smile. Oh, really? she says, sounding pleased.   
  
  
;;  
  
  
She misses when they used to be friends.  
  
Not like they aren't friends now. They are. And yet --  
  
But then again, they've never really been  _just friends_ , have they? They've always been something more than that, even when they were younger -- though  _something more_  is a kind of vague idea that she doesn't know how to describe; there's always been  _something_  between them. Something . . . uneven.   
  
It's been years, but Shiori can still recall their first chance meeting in the hallway, that little spark as their hands met. As she'd followed Juri down the hall, she'd thought, Who  _is_  this girl? Even then, Juri had an air of elegance about her. There was something untouchable about her. Shiori had been enchanted instantly with her.  
  
(juri sitting by the windows, drowning in sunlight, catches her eye in class, grinning coquettishly.)  
  
(shiori's heart leaps to her throat.)  
  
But that had changed, over time. She could remember it almost exactly, the day everything started to change. Seventh grade, watching Juri fence, beating each opponent in swift, skilled progression. The team captain had called for a break and Juri had pulled off her fencing mask, shaking her hair free, a pretty rose-colored stain of a blush on her cheeks from the exertion. Seeing her like that had sparked something inside Shiori; twin feelings of admiration and jealousy.  
  
The feelings took root and grew, bigger and bigger until it was all she could think about. Juri was better than her. Their friendship wasn't real, it was just something Juri kept up out of a kind of pity towards Shiori for being just a plain, faceless nobody. It was the truth, wasn't it? she thinks to herself. She is so woefully pathetic, compared to Juri. There's no way someone like Juri -- talented, gorgeous,  _popular_  Juri -- could ever really care about her. Their friendship is just one more sweet gesture on the long list of Juri's good deals; a chivalrous, princely act.   
  
She hates Juri.  
  
  
;;  
  
  
(but, no, that's not it.)  
  
(that isn't quite right.)  
  
  
;;  
  
  
They've always been something more than friends. She knew it then, but she  _knows_  now. Juri has always . . . No. She can't bring herself to think about it. But she understands it all now. Now, at last, she finally sees: she's better than Juri. She's always been better than Juri. She is the one who has always been in control. She is the one thing that perfect, shining Juri can never have.   
  
She knows it should make her happy.  
  
But --


End file.
